Murder on the Moor - C. S. Challinor [58]
“Och, noo!” Shona wailed.
“I warned you aboot him,” Hamish told his wife. “I said something wasna right. But you never listen.”
“Of course, you might get some business from the press. The legitimate press,” Estelle added snidely. “There’ll be camera crews filming the place from every angle and reporters waiting to interview you. You could be on TV!”
Shona looked ready to faint.
“We don’t need any more adverse publicity,” Hamish snapped.
“Oh, yes, I did hear mention of a drowning at your hotel.” Estelle interrogated Mrs. Allerdice with a look. “Am I right in assuming she might have been another of Beardsley’s victims?”
“Aye, I suppose,” Hamish admitted. “If he was in disguise and had booked into our hotel under a false name, he cannot have been up to any good.”
“I remember a guest talking to Amy about the mythical sea dragon,” Flora related. “He said if she went into the loch, the creature would sweep her up on its back and take her on a roller coaster ride in the water. She might never have gone in by herself if Beardsley hadn’t encouraged her. And I got the blame for her drowning!”
Donnie rose from the floor and sat beside his sister on the love-seat, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “I could kill him!” the boy muttered.
Rex raised his hands in a plea for silence. “I need you all to be patient just a wee bit longer. We still have to address Moira’s murder.”
“Oh, I almost forgot about Moira in all the commotion,” Estelle apologized, repositioning herself on the sofa. “Well, who on earth is responsible for that, then? Surely it must be Beardsley!”
Before addressing the remaining guests, Rex went to have a word with Inspector Strickler and Sergeant Dawes outside. As he was finishing up with them, Angus approached him in the courtyard and informed him that his crew had replaced all the tyres.
“Whit happened?” he asked, cleaning off his brawny hands on an oil-stained rag and then using it to dry his shaved head. “Looks like someone took a knife to the tyres. Is that what that police car is doing parked round the side of the hoose?”
Angus had missed the first arrest, and Rex wasn’t about to get into it and provide instant gossip for the village.
“Why would anyone want to vandalize all these cars?”
“I imagine they didn’t want anyone leaving the property.”
Angus took in the enveloping hills and wooded glens, steeped in rain. “Aye, ye are verra isolated here.”
“That was the whole idea when I bought Gleneagle Lodge.”
“It’s a wee bit different when ye canna leave, though. Well, I hope the rain holds off a while longer. The road is like a mudslide as it is.”
“I’d offer you a dram o’ whisky,” Rex said in chummily accented Scottish, “but my guests drank it all.”
“Thanks anyway. I’ll get one at the pub.”
“You didna happen to be at the Gleneagle Arms last night, did you?”
Angus grinned toothlessly. “On Friday night, every soul in the village is in there.”
“Happen to remember a man coming in asking for directions?”
“A man wi’ a turban?”
“Is that what it was?”
“Aye. Stopped his taxi right ootside the pub. A1 Cabs it said on the side, with the 131 Edinburgh area code. A woman sat in the back, all dressed up, fixing her face. I was aboot to ask if she was lost when the man dashed oot and hopped back in the cab again.”
Rex thanked Angus for the information and asked him to tow the Reliant back to the village and return it to the fishmonger. After settling the bill, he walked back to the two policemen. “Find anything?” he asked.
“Just a load of hoof prints,” Dawes replied. “And we found where the phone line was cut.”
“Why don’t you sit in while I reveal my theory aboot the murderer to the guests?”
“You’re sure it was a murder?” Inspector Strickler asked, as though Rex might be getting carried away with the idea of murder following the first arrest. “We’re investigating a death without having seen the body yet.”
“Aye, I’m sure. I’ve already spoken to the coroner by phone. Dr. Macleod’s autopsy supports my theory.”
“Well, we’ll be